


The Best Protection

by InsubstantialScribblings



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Hayffie, Quarter Quell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2020-01-16 14:39:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18523600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsubstantialScribblings/pseuds/InsubstantialScribblings
Summary: On the way to the Capitol for the Third Quarter Quell, Haymitch doesn't think his situation can get any worse. But Effie has devastating news for him...





	1. The Train

**Author's Note:**

> Nothing new, just a repost of something I previously deleted. 
> 
> If you'd rather keep this T-rated, skip Chapter 2.
> 
> Please note the following disclaimer which has become necessary following a reader complaint:
> 
> 'Characters in my stories may express thoughts and opinions which are not necessarily the "correct" or most socially, medically or morally acceptable ones. Neither are they necessarily my own opinions. If you are lookign to be advised on any topic, that is not what I am offering.'

**The Best Protection**

It didn’t seem to matter that Effie was a seasoned professional at riding the tribute train to the Capitol. Today, the frenetic pace as it tore through the landscape, devouring the woods outside District Twelve, left her shaking and dizzy. She had fled to her compartment as soon as they were aboard, and she lay there now on her bed, shoes and wig abandoned, struggling to regain her composure. She would never be able to forget the trauma of that reaping – the absolute horror that filled her when she read Haymitch’s name from the slip of paper, the guilt that followed her relief as Peeta stepped forward to take his place, the terrible finality of sentencing both children to their deaths. And now, of course, crowding in on top of everything, the weighty secret that had dominated her waking thoughts and invaded her dreams since she had first held up that positive pregnancy test all those weeks ago. A secret she would finally have to share before nightfall.

The memory of the day that sealed her fate three and a half months ago came floating back to her. She had been so delighted at the prospect of the unseasonal visit to Twelve for the wedding dress shoot. She had missed Haymitch so much since the Victory Tour; it had been like a physical pain. It was hard to believe that, before the children’s victory, they had always lasted the best part of a year without contact. The strange, decade-old, no-strings dalliance between them had for some time been slowly developing into something more, unvoiced by either of them, and that had only accelerated with the arrival of Katniss and Peeta. Working together on their passage through the Games and their subsequent victory had intensified everything: passion, emotions …. and risks. The Victory Tour had them both confessing that they hadn’t been with anyone else in years and it was Effie who had suggested relaxing their contraception rules to rely only on her pill. Haymitch hadn’t been keen at first, always reluctant to release control, but she had been very persuasive, and then that first time without any physical barrier between them had been so amazing. She had felt so close to him, almost a part of him, and she knew he had felt it too, even if he would never say.  The subject had never been raised again and Effie had reasoned that with her flawless organisational skills, what could go wrong? Everything, as it turned out.

 

She knew what needed to be done. Any child of Haymitch’s would be used against him, used to force him into whatever Snow devised for him, and would always be destined for the arena. Victors’ kids ended up in the Games far too often for it to be chance and no Gamemaker would be able to resist the temptation of a Quell victor’s child, especially one with an escort for a mother. Effie was under no illusion that her Capitol citizenship could afford this baby any sort of protection. And who knew what fate might await her in punishment for her traitorous affair?  In the past she might have been able to pass the child off as someone else’s, but that wouldn’t work now. She hadn’t been linked to anyone else in a very long time and, ever since Twelve had come under the spotlight a year ago, there had been persistent rumours about the nature of her relationship with Haymitch. She had refuted them all so far, but once there was concrete evidence… Suspicions would be aroused, questions would be asked. Yes, she knew what needed to be done. So why hadn’t she done it?

 

Initially, she had decided to keep the news from Haymitch. He had enough on his plate with the Quell and the unrest in Twelve, she should spare him this knowledge. But Effie was a selfish person. She had come to rely on Haymitch as a partner, an ally, a sounding board. Three times she had called the clinic to make the appointment and three times she had hung up without uttering a word. It didn’t sit right with her to make such a drastic decision about something that belonged equally to both of them, but mostly it was his reassurance she was seeking – the justification that she was doing the right thing. Because everything about it felt wrong.

 

The sharp click of the door handle startled her from her musings and she instinctively groped for the wig on her nightstand. She let her arm fall back to her side as she realised the only person who would enter without knocking would be the one who didn’t mind seeing her in her natural state – who even _preferred_ it. She closed her eyes again and breathed deeply. She could speak freely here. As a model Capitol citizen, her compartment was never bugged like the rest of the train. This was it.

 

Haymitch closed the door behind him and made his way across the room to sit down on the bed beside her. His rough hands encased one of her manicured ones between them.

 

“Effie.”

 

Her only response was a long, slow intake of breath.

“Look, Sweetheart. I know this is hard, but you’ve got to pull yourself together. I can promise you it’s worse for the kids. They need you. We could still bring one of them home. It’s not over yet.”

 

Effie slowly sat up, pushing herself back to lean against the headboard and pulling her knees in to her chest. “I know. I _know_. I’m a hundred percent committed, and I’ll be out there by dinner time, all guns blazing.” She sighed. “I just needed some time. I couldn’t fall apart in front of them; they don’t need to see that.”

“Ok,” said Haymitch softly, moving closer and stroking her left cheek with the backs of his fingers. Powerless to resist the offered comfort, Effie exhaled and leaned into his hand, closing her eyes. He altered his path, drawing his fingers gently across her lips before tilting her chin towards him and leaning in to brush his own lips softly against hers.

Effie felt the familiar sparks begin to run through her body. It would be so easy to relax into the practised pattern, to lose herself in him, to forget. But she mustn’t, she had to be brave this time. Pulling away, she could see the confusion in his turbulent grey eyes. God, how she loved those eyes. She could imagine how they would look in a child’s face…

 

“You’re too upset?” ventured Haymitch. “We don’t have to.”

 

“I want to. Oh, I _really_ want to,” countered Effie. “I just need to speak to you and I need to do it now before I lose my nerve.”

 

“What is this, Sweetheart?” Haymitch’s brow had creased into a frown, his body language changing from open to defensive. “What’s happened?” He narrowed his eyes. “What have you done?”

 

“I’ve made a mistake Haymitch. I haven’t breathed a word to anyone, but it’s bad. And you’re going to be angry. But you have to know that I didn’t do this on purpose – I would never….”

 

“Whatever it is, just spit it out,” growled Haymitch. “I’m not in any mood for one of your dramas.”

 

“I’m not _being_ dramatic,” began Effie. She stopped and forced herself to hold his gaze. “I’m pregnant.”

 

In the split second before Haymitch tore his eyes from her, Effie registered the dual expression of horror and betrayal that instantly flared there. His focus was now on his hands, clenched into fists in his lap. When he spoke, his voice was almost a hiss, low and tight. Effie thought she would have preferred shouting and rage.

 

“You promised. I wasn’t sure, and you _promised._ Did you wake up one morning and decide it would be fun to have a victor’s kid? Latest fashion is it? I _knew_ I was a damn fool to trust a _fucking_ Capitol. _This_ is what happens. You _betray_ me.“

 

Effie didn’t think any words had ever cut her as deeply as those. He still thought of her as the enemy.

 

“When did it happen?” he added in a low and falsely measured tone, his eyes still avoiding hers, but making a calculating sweep of her figure.

“The photo shoot. But I didn’t betray you, you have to believe me. I was stupid, I made a mistake. The different time zones… On the way home, I was asleep when I should have taken my pill and... and then, when I woke up, they announced the Quell and I don’t know what happened. I thought I was losing you… I wasn’t in my own mind. I lost _days_. I’ve no recollection of getting from the train to my apartment. I don’t think I ate for days, I don’t know if I slept. I didn’t _think_ until it was too late. When I found out I… I tried to fix it, but I couldn’t go through with it, not without telling you first. I thought about calling, but with the Capitol watching you all…” She trailed off, a lone tear sliding down her cheek. “Please, say something.”

 

When Haymitch finally raised his head, he looked utterly drained and defeated. “What is there to say? You know what you need to do. Get it sorted. And fast. You know what? I can’t even think about this now.”

He got to his feet and shook his head at her dismissively before exiting the room in three swift strides, leaving the door gaping open behind him. She hadn’t been expecting tenderness, but his coldness crushed her entirely.

 

**xXxXxXxXx**

The evening on the train was a strained affair. Valiant attempts at conversation by Effie and Peeta sank away into silence and the recap of the reapings brought with it its own bleakness.

Haymitch watched as friends and acquaintances took the first steps toward their annihilation. Unnoticed by the rest of his team, he silently lifted a bottle of spirits from the bar and made his way to his room, the sight of Chaff mounting the stage and the thunderbolt of Effie’s revelation pressing down heavily on him. It was his first taste of alcohol in months and he expected oblivion to come quickly. Instead, all that descended on him was a deep melancholy. Damn Effie to hell. He had been weak. He had let people in. Katniss, Peeta... and _her_. Despite his best efforts for ten years. And now it wasn’t the bottle he needed to find solace. It was her. His weakness at needing her infuriated him. There was no way he could go to her now. Not after what she had told him. Not after her betrayal.

Except it wasn’t quite that simple, was it?

It had been a reflex to treat her just then as the conniving Capitol he used to have her pegged for, _easier_ for him. But suddenly, in his mind’s eye, all he could see was that single tear as it made its way down her perfect cheek, he could hear the waver in her voice as her emotion choked her. She wasn’t threatening him or holding anything over him. She was just sad. She was going to do the right thing and it would be bad for her, worse than for him. She was the one who would have to go through it, yet another death amongst all the others that surrounded them. She had escorted so many children to their ends, it was almost poetic that her own child would join them. And in that moment, he knew he had to go to her. It didn’t matter how he felt about what had happened – they were a team, her words at dinner were true. They supported each other. He had enough real enemies as it was.

 

He slipped silently into her compartment, surprised to find it empty. Faint noises from the bathroom gave away her whereabouts as he sank into the armchair in the corner. He had no clue what he would say to her, he just knew he had to be near her. Who knew how many more days there would be if all went according to plan? He would escape to Thirteen or die trying - either way he would likely never see her again. He would help her through this situation first, make sure she would be left safe and untainted by any association with him. It would be his parting gift.

 

She didn’t notice him from his place in the shadows as she exited the bathroom. She looked exactly the way he liked her best, most traces of the Capitol gone from her body. She wore a simple silk robe of palest blue, plain and muted by her usual standards. Her face, devoid of the Capitol war paint, looked fresh and flawless and her blonde hair fell across her shoulders in a gleaming curtain. He watched as she stopped in front of her mirrored dressing table, tying her hair into a loose knot and selecting various lotions for her nightly routine. Ordinarily he would have called her out for her vanity, but tonight he was content to observe the ritual, almost soothed by the deft ministrations. She moved on from her face to her shapely legs, balancing each foot on the stool in turn in a display that would normally have set his pulse racing. Not tonight though. Tonight, he simply drank in every inch of her skin, committing it to memory, appreciating her beauty – the beauty of a body he knew as well as his own. She straightened up, loosening the belt of her robe, and in one smooth movement she shrugged it from her body, silk pooling at her feet like a carpet of petals and leaving her naked aside from her delicate lace briefs.

She looked regal, other-worldly.

Haymitch’s breath caught in his throat as his eyes travelled over her skin. Her breasts were significantly bigger – a lot fuller and more pert – and it came as a shock. His gaze moved down and, as she reached for the lotion, he saw it. Her usually taut abdomen rounded gently outwards, smooth and perfect on her slender frame, an irrefutable sign of her pregnancy and the tiny life inside her. It was, quite simply, the most stunningly beautiful thing he had ever seen.

 

“Holy shit.” The words escaped his mouth before he realised he was giving them voice.

 

Effie startled, snapping around from her position in front of the table to face him. She was surprised, but there was something else there too in her face. She looked unsure, self-conscious – something she never was.

 

“Is that …?” he whispered, inclining his head in the direction of her abdomen.

 

Biting her bottom lip in a subconscious show of nerves, she looked straight into his eyes and nodded almost imperceptibly, one hand moving to cup her bump in a protective gesture.

 

“Come here,” he commanded, his voice gravelly and rough as it always was after drinking.

She moved towards his armchair, almost completely closing the gap between them. Tentatively, he placed his right palm on one side of her delicate bump, its partner following suit. Her skin was smooth to the touch, but there was an insistent firmness there, something solid, something _real_. Somewhere deep beneath his fingertips, unobserved, a small heart was beating, beating inside a tiny being with his blood running through its veins. He hadn’t been related to anyone for twenty-five years. It was better that way. Safer. And yet… A strange, fierce possessiveness was welling up inside him. If there was a chance, even a small one, that he could save something so innocent, so pure… Could he really even consider it? It would be tough to convince Plutarch to bring her to Thirteen. He’d suggested it before and been persuaded she’d be safer in the Capitol playing the role of the clueless loyal escort, but this changed everything.

 

“Damn it, Effie.” He exhaled hard.  “It’s too _fucking_ perfect.”

Before he knew what he was doing, he had moved his hands to her hips and leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to the hardness of her belly. When he drew back, her eyes were bright and shining with tears she made no effort to conceal.

 

“I came here to tell you I don’t blame you. To tell you I’d help you deal with this before the Games start. But now…”

 

“But now?” she echoed, her voice barely audible above the thrum of the train’s engine.

 

“ _Fuck_. You can’t…” Haymitch ran his fingers through his hair, breathing heavily, then pressed them to his temples. “Do you trust me? I mean completely trust me? Blindly? With no questions asked?”

 

Effie’s voice was choked with emotion, but she didn’t hesitate. “Always. And absolutely.”

 

“Ok. Then here’s what’s going to happen. You do nothing. Nothing at all except what you’ve already been doing - keeping it a secret. At some point … there’ll be something. You’ll know. And that’s when you need to remember you trust me.”

 

Effie opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off instantly. “Don’t ask me anything.”

 

The tears that had been threatening to fall all day finally burst forth in huge shuddering sobs that overtook her whole body. Haymitch’s arms were round her in an instant, guiding her to the bed and laying her down on the quilt. She fisted his shirt in both hands, pulling him down with her and assaulting his mouth with a desperate kiss, wrapping herself around him as though she would never let go. He covered the tracks of her tears with gentle kisses, settling behind her and bringing his hand to rest on her abdomen which now seemed to exert a magnetic pull on him. Gradually, her breathing began to even out and she became calm under his touch in the darkness.

“I’ll keep you safe,” he whispered into her hair. “Both of you.”


	2. The Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Skip this chapter to keep things T-rated.

Effie awoke in the early hours feeling strangely disorientated. Her hands, chest and feet were all decidedly chilly. She was virtually naked, still lying on top of the covers, and she was in no doubt that it was the cold that had disturbed her. There was a delicious warmth at her back though.

Haymitch didn’t often stay the night with her, so the fact that he was still here spoke volumes. His face was buried in the curve of her neck and she could feel his breath on her skin. His free arm was still flung over her waist, his hand splayed like a shield across her abdomen.

She had been afraid she would awake to find that his change of heart had been nothing but a beautiful dream, yet here he was, still guarding them.

She knew she shouldn’t be feeling so happy. In under twelve hours they’d be in the Capitol. Nothing good lay in store for any of them there… Katniss and Peeta… She couldn’t bear to think of it. And something else was going on, something dangerous. Effie wasn’t stupid; she could sense it. She had known Haymitch long enough and intimately enough to realise when he was plotting something. She wouldn’t ask. He’d told her not to, he’d told her to trust him and she would honour that. He would have good reasons for requesting it of her, and besides, it seemed that whatever was afoot was going to allow her to have this baby. A pleasant tingle ran down her spine. Haymitch really wanted her to keep their child.

She had loved this baby right from the outset and that had been the problem - the thought of losing this precious thing that she and Haymitch had created together, albeit accidentally, and, before today’s reaping, something she’d thought might be the very last part of him left to her, had been unbearable. She absolutely hadn’t expected him to feel the same way about it though. And all it had taken was the proof of it growing inside her, the feel of it under his palms, under his lips.

She was scared of what would happen, of what the future both near and distant would bring - this was certainly no fairy tale after all – but just for now, just for tonight, she would allow herself to rejoice in his commitment, in his protection. In his _love_?

Was it love that he felt for her? She couldn’t be sure. It hadn’t always been there for her either; it had crept up on her slowly, something that ran deeper than the banter and the lust, and now she was in out of her depth. No other man had ever made her feel the way he did. It was all-consuming.

She’d tried to conceal it for the longest time. It was dangerous and she knew it would be unwelcomed, but she never could seem to hide much from him. For a long time he’d resented her for it, derided her at times. That had all changed during the last Games. She’d sensed something of a difference before then but, after Katniss and Peeta, he’d seemed to give in to it, though whether consciously or not, she didn’t know. Did he love her? He would never say, that much was certain. Mostly she didn’t allow herself to hope, but sometimes she was so sure she could feel it. It was in the little things: a gentle touch here and there, a small kindness, spending the night in her bed, that occasional new tenderness as her lover. If he felt for her the way she did for him…

Effie twisted in his embrace, bringing herself to face him. Haymitch slumbered on, but adjusted his arms about her, drawing her close to him. His chest was bare – he must have removed his clothes sometime after she’d fallen asleep, she reasoned – and her increasingly sensitive breasts were now pressed against his torso. It was electrifying. She raised herself up on one elbow to study him.

Usually, his face looked strained even in sleep, his body tensed and rigid even before the nightmares came calling. Tonight though, he seemed relaxed and peaceful, in spite of the turmoil that surrounded them.

“I love you,” she declared to his unconscious form. “So very much.”

It was the only time she could ever say it, when he was unaware in the darkness. She pressed a kiss to his shoulder, turning it into a trail to the junction with his neck, then across his jawline to his mouth where she lingered, pulling his bottom lip between hers.

She felt the subtle shift in his body before he was even properly conscious himself. Warm hands were soon caressing her back, fingers ghosting up and down, sending a shower of sparks the length of her spine. Haymitch’s mouth sought hers in a long, slow, deep kiss of the intensely intimate kind that he usually resisted and that she never wanted to break. He was the one to move, bringing his lips to the hollow of her throat. Effie threw back her head, lost in the sensations running through her. She could feel him already growing hard against her thigh but, when she reached for him, he nudged her gently onto her back.

“I want to look at you,” he mumbled gruffly.

His gaze was intense and Effie felt uncharacteristically insecure beneath it. She’d been so far gone in denial that she hadn’t taken much notice of the changes pregnancy had brought to her body so far, but she knew they were there. Would Haymitch desire her less because of them? She knew she was losing the definition to her waist and her hips were widening already. He surely wouldn’t mind the larger breasts, though perhaps knowing the reason for their growth would be a turn-off? That was the one thing she had at least always been sure of with him – her body’s ability to arouse him. If that were gone…

“So beautiful.”

Unsure if she’d heard right, the words echoed in her head. If Haymitch had been the type to soothe fragile egos, to pay compliments, Effie would never have believed that hushed statement. But he wasn’t, and besides, he wasn’t even looking at her face as he spoke, the comment wasn’t directed at her. Rather, it was an observation to himself as his eyes travelled over her body, mapping the changes, his fingers trailing over her bump, up her waist, the side of her right breast…

She flinched then, involuntarily.

“Painful?” he asked, concern on his face.

“No,” she whispered, “Just sensitive.”

“In a bad way?”

“No, not bad. More… _intense_ ,” she clarified.

 

Haymitch nodded and lowered his head to her breast, trailing his tongue along the underside experimentally. The gasp that small action elicited seemed to encourage him and he took her nipple in his mouth, teasing it with his teeth and tongue. He was more gentle than his usual style, but the effect it had on her was stronger than ever. He brought his hand to the other side, kneading softly, rolling her nipple between thumb and forefinger.

Effie squirmed under his touch, her hips already acting out a rhythm. Skilful fingers relieved her of her underwear and travelled to her centre, sliding in the wetness that had gathered there so quickly. She was fast becoming breathless, desperate for him.

“I need you,” she whispered huskily.

She sensed his hesitation before he spoke.

“Is it safe? I don’t want to hurt you. Either of you.”

“It’s fine,” she reassured him. “Just…probably don’t put all your weight on me. Maybe if I’m on top…”

“No,” he cut her off. “I don’t want that tonight. I don’t want one of us to dominate. It’s got to be equal this time. I want…”

Effie studied him as he trailed off. His expression was so intense, emotion had changed his face and she thought she saw…If she was wrong…

“You want us to make love to each other.”

Her words hung heavily in the air and panic flared in her chest. She’d been mistaken. So _stupid_. It would push him away, just when…

“Yeah,” breathed Haymitch, the relief palpable in his voice. “Yeah, that’s what I want.”

Effie struggled to control the wealth of emotions that rose up inside her. She wanted to cry and laugh all at once. How long had she dreamed of something like that? Her heart was threatening to burst from her chest, but she forced herself to remain outwardly calm as she turned back onto her side, mirroring Haymitch.

With practised ease, she threw her top leg over his, drawing him close, kissing him long and deep. His erection pressed between them and he shifted, lining himself up to meet her. He entered her cautiously, checking her reaction. Their eyes locked and, as they began to move together, gyrating in the slow, sensual way the position dictated, Effie was sure that he was staring into her very soul. This was without doubt the most intense experience she had ever shared with him. They’d been adventurous over the years, but this…this was something else. This deep connection, this unspoken bond, the little life they’d created cradled between them…

She fought to delay her orgasm, not wanting this to end, but it was no use. The emotion only made it build faster and she knew she couldn’t last much longer, but she refused to break away from his gaze, seeing the same strain in his features. They came together in perfect synchrony, he with a rough groan, she with a desperate gasp.

He didn’t pull out straight away and she didn’t want him to. They stayed as they were, facing each other on their sides, still kissing, still caressing. Eventually, he let himself fall onto his back and she rested her head on his shoulder, tucking in securely under his chin. One arm was stretched around her, holding her close, the other trailed down between them to softly stroke her bump once more.

“Effie?” Haymitch’s voice was hesitant. “I…I… _Shit._ Why is this so hard? I want you to know… Look, I can’t make any promises now, but…”

“Then don’t make any.” Effie came to his rescue. “You don’t have to say anything. I can feel it. That has to be enough for now. Just hold me, keep holding me.”

And he did, through all the hours until dawn broke the darkness and reality came crashing back in.


	3. The Aftermath

Someone was pounding on the door to Haymitch’s room in the Presidential Mansion. At least he thought someone was pounding on the door. His head seemed to be permanently filled with hammers and drills, so it was hard to tell. Sobriety had lasted less than a day after the fall of the Capitol. It had never stood a chance once he had access to the old poisons again.  How could it, after the horrors of the final day at the City Circle?  All those children… Katniss’s sister lost with them, Katniss herself burned and hovering between life and death in that tank, Peeta not faring much better. The news of Finnick, Coin’s true colours steadily revealing themselves… and Effie. Always Effie.

He should have known. He should never have let himself believe, hope, that he could keep that promise to keep her safe. Plutarch had agreed in the end to extracting her along with Katniss’s prep team, but she’d been arrested virtually as soon as the arena blew. They knew she’d been imprisoned – Johanna had caught sight of her a couple of times during the first few days, but after that the trail was cold. She hadn’t been at the Training Centre when the victors were recovered and none of Plutarch’s contacts knew where she’d been moved to. Or if there was even anyone left to move.  They’d clearly thought she had information and if they’d tried to get it from her the way they had with Peeta and Johanna …. Effie wasn’t used to hardship. She couldn’t possibly have endured it. An unborn child certainly couldn’t have. A very real pain spread through his chest, squeezing hard, as his thoughts took themselves once again to that perfect bump that had broken down his resolve and protective barriers all those months ago. It should have been born around this time ….

This was exactly why he needed to drink, to drown out those thoughts, to wipe his memory. Yet despite the booze, his rare moments of sobriety wouldn’t quite let it go, picking away at the wound, opening it up to bleed anew. He’d asked Plutarch to prioritise finding out what had happened to her and, to be fair to the man, he had complied wholeheartedly. It was a slow process and there might well never be an answer. More underground fortresses and holding cells filled with political prisoners were being revealed almost daily. Several times, a person matching Effie’s description had been flagged up and Haymitch had raced to the location, only to have his hopes dashed. He treated such reports with growing weariness, yet still he couldn’t quite bring himself to give her up entirely.

 

The pounding became more insistent. Haymitch slid from the bed with a groan and wrenched the door open. Plutarch stood before it, fist raised mid-knock. “Get your coat. We’ve found someone. They think it’s her.”

 

“They always think it’s her,” sighed Haymitch, nevertheless reaching for his coat where it lay thrown across a chair. “Come on then, might as well get another one over with.”

 

**xXxXxXxX**

Effie stood at the window, staring out on the ruined streets that used to be her home city. She felt nothing for it now. Her mind had gradually become aware of its true ugliness over the years, but now any traces of residual affection had been erased entirely. All she could think of was finding Haymitch, finding him and getting far away from here with him, outrunning all the painful memories of this place. She paced restlessly, maddened by the continued imprisonment. Supposedly she was free now, that’s what the rebels who’d liberated this place had said, but when she’d tried to leave they’d stopped her. She was still a long-time employee of the Games, they’d said, regardless of where her loyalties had seemed to lie in the end. She had to wait until she’d been properly processed, whatever that meant. At least she’d been moved to better quarters. This was where the prison guards had lived apparently. She had a small bedroom, a bathroom and a living area and a plentiful supply of food was brought to her throughout the day, but she still couldn’t wait to leave.

Finding Haymitch was her absolute priority. She’d known early on he’d made it to Thirteen; she’d heard him mentioned in several of the Capitol’s propaganda items designed to discredit the rebellion, and the rebels who’d found this prison had assured her he was still alive, along with both children. She wondered if he was looking for her. She thought he was. He’d told her to trust him and she still did. She’d never known what his plan for her had been, but she knew there had been one. Portia had told her that when they were kept together for a brief time. He couldn’t have suspected she’d be arrested so quickly. He would be blaming himself, she knew that. All that had happened to her – how she had been forced to watch as Portia and Peeta’s prep team were beaten, tortured and finally executed, her abandonment in cold, cramped, dark rooms with no comfort and never enough food, the mind games they’d played with her – all of that had happened because of her association with him, it was true. But what he couldn’t possibly know was how that association had also been her salvation, her lifeline. She’d watched those guards and interrogators behave like machines, carrying out their brutal orders methodically and seemingly without the slightest spark of humanity. Yet some tiny residual trace of morality must have lurked beneath after all. Because when they’d tossed her into that cell, stripped her naked and prepared to administer their sadistic tortures, they’d seen her pregnant stomach and they hadn’t laid a finger on her. The task had been delegated and re-delegated and yet not one guard could bring himself to be the one to carry it out…

 

A knock at the door grabbed her attention and she turned to see one of the now familiar rebel guards slide into view. As he opened his mouth to address her, he was suddenly pulled back by an unseen hand and all at once Haymitch stood before her: red-eyed, pale, unkempt and washed out, but so very real.

They both moved at once and, in a heartbeat, they were in each other’s arms. Effie clung to him as though he was anchoring her to the very Earth, soothed by the feel of his familiar muscles, breathing in the scent of him deeply.

“You came,” she murmured into his neck. “I knew you would.”

 

As Haymitch pressed himself against her, his own heart thundering in his ears, he took in the feel of her too-thin frame, the absence of a pregnant belly. He’d known it before, he’d told himself enough times there could be no hope as far as the child was concerned, but being faced with the reality of it was no less terrible for it. He knew he should be glad that _she_ was here, alive and whole, and glad to see him, and he truly was… But the baby… how could she ever feel for him as before with that loss always between them? His failure, for the second time, to protect his family?

He pulled back slightly from their embrace and fixed his grey eyes on her blue ones. “Sweetheart, I’m so sorry. I can’t tell you how much. I promised to keep you safe and I didn’t. The baby… I’ll never forgive myself for it. I’m bad news. The worst. You should stay well away from me.”

 

Effie’s eyes blurred with tears, but to his surprise she was smiling. Gently, she cupped his cheek. “But Haymitch,” she began, “you did keep me safe. You gave me the very best protection there was.”

As his brow creased in confusion, Effie untangled herself from his arms. “I need to show you something,” she said, disappearing through the doorway to the next room. She reappeared in seconds and stood before him, a small bundle in her arms.

“This is your son, Haymitch. He’s exactly a week old. He was a bit early and on the small side, but the medics have said he’s absolutely fine.”

Without asking, she lowered the sleeping infant into Haymitch’s arms. He was light and yet still firm, still solid, just like Effie’s beautiful bump on the train. It melted his heart in an instant.

“Just wait until he opens his eyes,” she continued, her voice rich with pride. “He looks exactly like you. Not even the worst of my guards could bring themselves to lay a hand on me because of him. We’re going to have such a good life, Haymitch. I’ve got two of you to protect me now – I’ll be the safest woman in all Panem.”

 

Haymitch stared down at the minute, precious form in his arms, taking in the rosy skin, the wisps of blonde hair, the flawless tiny fingers that protruded from the shawl. He found himself staring into grey eyes identical to his own and their owner seemed to speak to him through them, to reassure him.

Haymitch felt an unfamiliar peace settle over him. He could really have this. Them. The life that had been ripped away from him all those years ago, the life he thought he could never have again, was right here within his reach. In his arms. Dropping a gentle kiss on his son’s perfect forehead, he shifted the warm bundle to the crook of his right arm, drawing Effie back in to his left side. “I’m never letting you go,” he whispered to them both. “My family.”


End file.
